Chapter 6 - The Price of a Child
Clara did not scream.
That terrified Dante more than if she had.
She stood in Elena Price’s living room with both hands pressed flat against the back of a chair and said, very calmly, “Tell me exactly what happened.”
Dante had seen men go numb before violence.
Clara was doing the same thing.
Carlo’s voice came through the phone.
“Two vehicles. Utility uniforms. They used a cloned gate code. Knew the blind spot behind the kitchen service entrance.”
Dante’s blood went cold.
Only a handful of people knew that blind spot existed.
“Where were you?”
“West wing. Rocco’s man triggered a medical alarm.”
“Rocco’s man?”
“He collapsed. It was fake.”
Dante closed his eyes.
Rocco.
Carlo.
Bianca.
Every direction led to someone he trusted.
Clara grabbed the phone.
“Did Lucy fight?”
Carlo hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Was she hurt?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think?”
“She kicked one of them and bit another. Mrs. Bell saw them carry her out. She was screaming your name.”
Clara’s face cracked.
Dante reached for her.
She pushed him away.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
She looked at him with murder in her eyes.
“You said she was safe.”
“I know.”
“You made me leave her there.”
“I know.”
“You said your house was the safest place.”
“I was wrong.”
The admission silenced the room.
Dante did not defend himself.
Did not blame Carlo.
Did not promise something he could not yet deliver.
He said only:
“I am getting her back.”
Clara’s voice shook.
“You better.”
The ransom call came twelve minutes later.
Not money.
Not territory.
Not access codes.
A video appeared on Dante’s phone.
Lucy sat in a simple chair inside a bright room.
No visible injuries.
Her hands were free.
She looked furious rather than afraid.
Someone off camera said, “Tell your mother you’re okay.”
Lucy glared toward the voice.
“You’re stupid.”
Clara covered her mouth.
Despite everything, Dante almost smiled.
The voice repeated, “Tell her.”
Lucy looked at the camera.
“Mom, I’m okay. I kicked a guy in the shin.”
A hand reached toward the camera.
Lucy added quickly, “Mr. Dante, they have ugly curtains.”
The video cut.
Clara laughed and sobbed at the same time.
Dante replayed the last three seconds.
“Ugly curtains.”
“What?”
He froze the image.
Behind Lucy were patterned curtains.
Blue and gold.
Hotel style.
Carlo, now back on the line, said, “Could be anywhere.”
“No. She was looking at something.”
Clara stared at the image.
A small brass plaque appeared on the wall behind the curtain.
She zoomed in.
HAR...
“Harbor,” she whispered.
Harbor Light.
Dante called Evelyn Grant.
He did not like federal prosecutor Evelyn Grant.
She had spent years building cases against his businesses.
She did not like him either.
That was useful.
People who disliked you had fewer reasons to flatter you.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“This is either the worst butt dial of your life or the first smart decision you’ve made in ten years.”
“A child was taken.”
Her tone changed instantly.
“Whose?”
“Clara Hale’s daughter.”
“Connection to you?”
“Long story.”
“Short version.”
“She carried evidence in a six-year-old homicide conspiracy.”
Silence.
“Send me the video.”
Within twenty minutes, Evelyn had FBI personnel moving toward Harbor Light.
Dante hated waiting.
He paced.
Clara did not.
She sat with Elena and watched the video over and over.
Then she said, “Pause at seven seconds.”
Dante did.
Lucy shifted in the chair.
For half a second, a reflection appeared in the window glass.
A woman.
Dark hair.
Blue shirt.
Clara stood.
“Who is that?”
Dante stared.
It could not be clear from the reflection.
But something in his body recognized her before his mind allowed it.
Bianca.
Or Beatrice.
One of them.
Evelyn called back.
“Harbor Light is mostly empty. We have warrants in motion.”
“Too slow.”
“Do not go there.”
“I’m already going.”
“Dante.”
“If you want to arrest me later, bring paperwork.”
Clara grabbed her coat.
He turned.
“No.”
She stared.
He stopped himself.
Then nodded.
“Stay beside me.”
“Good recovery.”
They drove with no sirens.
Carlo met them two blocks from Harbor Light.
Dante got out and hit him.
Clara watched Carlo take the punch without defending himself.
“You were in St. Catherine’s the night Bianca vanished,” Dante said.
Carlo wiped blood from his lip.
“Yes.”
Clara stared.
“Then why are you still here?”
Carlo looked at Dante.
“Because he needs me.”
“Tell me.”
Carlo’s voice was low.
“Six years ago, Rocco ordered me to St. Catherine’s. Said Bianca was alive and someone was coming for her. I was twenty-nine. I followed orders.”
“Who came?”
“Vale. Another woman. Beatrice.”
“You saw them?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“They moved Bianca through a service exit.”
“You let them.”
“I thought Rocco authorized it.”
Dante’s face twisted.
“You never told me.”
“Rocco said Bianca wanted out. Said she feared you. Said she chose to disappear.”
“And you believed him?”
Carlo looked ashamed.
“At the time, yes.”
Dante stepped closer.
“And tonight?”
“I failed.”
“Did you help take Lucy?”
Carlo’s eyes flashed.
“No.”
Dante held his gaze.
He believed him.
Not completely.
But enough.
They reached Harbor Light just as federal teams moved in.
The facility looked almost abandoned from outside.
Inside, lights burned in only one corridor.
Room 214 stood open.
Lucy was not there.
But her green ribbon lay on the floor.
Clara picked it up.
Her hands shook.
Dante examined the curtains.
Blue and gold.
“Same room.”
A sound came from the bathroom.
Carlo drew his weapon.
“Come out.”
A woman stepped slowly into the doorway.
Dark hair.
Pale face.
Older than the photographs.
A crescent scar visible at the back of her neck.
Beatrice.
Leo’s mother.
She raised both empty hands.
“Please don’t shoot.”
Clara rushed forward.
“Where is my daughter?”
Beatrice looked at her.
“They moved her.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
Dante stepped into the light.
Beatrice saw him and stopped breathing.
“Oh my God.”
“You know me.”
“I know your face.”
“Where is Bianca?”
Beatrice’s eyes filled.
“I’ve been trying to find her for six years.”
Dante’s anger surged.
“You were with her the night she disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
Beatrice looked toward the hall.
“Vale happened.”
“Your father-in-law.”
“He is not my father-in-law.”
Dante frowned.
“But Michael Voss—”
“Michael was not his son.”
The room shifted again.
Beatrice shook.
“Vale built families the same way he built records. Out of whatever names he needed.”
Clara grabbed her arm.
“My child.”
Beatrice looked at her.
“I know where they will take her if they think you found this place.”
“Where?”
“The old Meridian property.”
Dante went still.
The word from Rocco’s story.
Meridian.
“What is it?”
Beatrice whispered.
“A private medical compound your father funded twenty years ago.”
Dante stared.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“Witnesses. Injured men. People who needed to disappear. Sometimes willingly.”
“And sometimes?”
Beatrice’s silence answered.
Clara’s face hardened.
“Where is it?”
Beatrice gave an address in rural Wisconsin.
Dante was already moving.
Then she caught his sleeve.
“There’s something else.”
He turned.
Beatrice’s eyes filled.
“The baby in Rocco’s photograph was mine.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“I know.”
“No. You don’t.”
She took a breath.
“She wasn’t Michael’s.”
Dante stared.
“Whose?”
Beatrice looked toward Clara.
Then back at him.
“Your father’s.”
No one spoke.
Dante felt as if the floor had disappeared.
“My father died eight years ago.”
“The child is seven.”
“Rocco said the photograph was five years old.”
“The photograph was old when he received it.”
Dante’s pulse hammered.
“What are you saying?”
Beatrice swallowed.
“Your father had a daughter.”
Dante understood.
“A sister.”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
May you like
Beatrice’s eyes moved toward the empty chair where Lucy had been sitting.
“Vale took her too.”
